Knight's Mistress

by C. C. Gibbs

The man shot a glance at Kate’s stubbornly set jaw, understood that it was safer to defer to Mr Knight’s request than not, and crisply said, ‘As you wish, sir.’

  If you only knew what I wished. ‘I will need coffee at eight tomorrow morning though,’ Dominic said mildly.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The manager held open the elevator door for Kate and Dominic, and the moment the doors shut, he called up to the club level. ‘Both of you get down here,’ he snapped to the concierge. ‘Mr Knight doesn’t want to be disturbed tonight.’

  CHAPTER 9

  So much for help from the staff, Kate thought, as the elevator carried them upward. The manager had practically kissed Dominic’s ring. Which meant she was on her own and her only true security lay in a locked and chained door.

  When the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, thanks to an evening’s worth of champagne, a fuming temper and a sense of self-preservation, Kate shot out like a sprinter from the blocks. ‘Don’t you fucking dare follow me,’ she muttered under her breath as she stalked away without a backward glance.

  Had she looked back, she would have seen Dominic Knight contemplating her hasty retreat with a faint smile.

  The moment she entered her suite, she slammed the door, turned the lock and jammed in the chain.

  Oh Christ. Was the butler still here? She spun around. No. Thank God. She exhaled in relief. Dominic could say all he wanted about people not listening, but they did. And as far as she was concerned, it was only a question of when they’d spill the beans, not if. But then she probably read more National Enquirer articles than he did.

  Tossing aside the shawl, she kicked off her shoes and moved across the softly lit living room, past the artfully arranged fruit and cheese tray on the coffee table set next to the bottle of champagne on ice, and grinned. Fuck you, Dominic Knight. Everything doesn’t always go your way, does it? Untying the bow at her waist, she entered the spacious bedroom with the million-dollar view, unzipped the back of her dress and let it slide from her shoulders. Pausing long enough to step out of the puddled silk on the carpet, she slid her thumbs under the elastic of her panties, paused again so they could slither down her legs and with a slightly inebriated skip and a jump, left them discarded on the floor. Two steps more and she dropped onto the bed already turned down by unseen hands.

  The mattress was soft as down, the sheets some outrageous thread count and smooth as silk, the pile of pillows a minor distraction until she tossed all but one on the floor and curled up under the wisteria-coloured king-sized quilt covering the king-sized bed. If someone was watching – and no doubt someone was – they would have marvelled at how quickly she moved from wakefulness to sleep.

  Five seconds. Dominic smiled, dropped his watch hand and gently shut the door to the suite next door. Had he been a prideful man, her indifference would have been humbling. As it was, it left him with plenty of time to decide what he wanted to do. Or more precisely, how he wanted to do it.

  With Miss Hart sleeping, he took the opportunity to check his email because urgent mail was a constant in his life. Someone, somewhere, always needed an answer. An hour later, the most pressing messages had been addressed, and stripping off his clothes, he put on a T-shirt and pyjama pants. Moving through the silent corridors, he walked into the bar, filled a glass with ice and poured himself a rye. Alone in the room that boasted one of the best views in the world, he slowly drank his rye and contemplated the dazzling splendour of Hong Kong, all blazing neon and sparkling lights against the darkness.

  Unfortunately, the splendid view took second place to his thoughts. Miss Hart had looked exactly as he’d pictured her in his imagination. Slender, lithesome, great tits and legs that went on for ever. Her skin had been unusually pale in the moonlit room – the word ‘immaculate’ had suddenly taken on a presence. Along with all the perverse connotations having to do with that notion. As if purity itself was a challenge. Christ, he needed a little restraint here. Miss Hart wasn’t bought and paid for. It had been a long time since he’d approached a woman who wasn’t aware of her role and function. He’d have to make sure he didn’t scare the hell out of Miss Hart. With that stricture in mind, he poured himself another rye and enjoyed the view and a rare moment of solitude.

  After he finished the drink, he reached over the bar and set the glass in the sink. He might have staff and employees in almost constant attendance but he was capable of taking care of himself. In fact, there were times he preferred it.

  Like now.

  Sliding from the barstool, he stood motionless.

  This occasion felt very different and it wasn’t just because there was no money involved. On the other hand, he’d never once seriously questioned his intentions towards Miss Hart. Or at least not since Amsterdam. So …

  He slipped the key card from his pocket.

  A half-hour later, Kate rolled over, squinted against the moonlight for a second, then suddenly sat bolt upright. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ she gasped. She suddenly felt vulnerable alone in this hotel room with a man who had no limits, was accountable to no one, who bought anyone and anything without constraint.

  Dominic reached out, picked up the key card from a nearby table, raised it slightly and tipped it in the direction of an adjoining door. ‘These suites all run together.’

  ‘I suppose you’re next door,’ she said tartly, taking the offensive. Never show fear, Gramps had always said. It takes away your advantage. ‘I should have known.’

  She was perfectly comfortable sitting nude before him. It gave him momentary pause. He would have expected a quick covering up. On the other hand, Miss Hart’s sumptuous breasts gilded by moonlight made it easy to dismiss his reservations. ‘Actually, I’m three suites away.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Although, not at the moment.’

  ‘No kidding. Do you want something?’

  ‘Not necessarily. I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘So you decided to be a voyeur.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I decided.’ As he’d watched her sleeping, he’d begun to wonder if he was doing the right thing again. Which was why he hadn’t wakened her.

  ‘Why don’t I tell you.’

  His brows rose.

  ‘You’re not reinventing the wheel, Mr Knight.’

  ‘Dominic.’

  ‘Mr Knight,’ she coolly repeated. ‘Look, you’re a big-time plutocrat. I’m a nobody. You’ve been thinking you might fuck me before I leave, then send me on my way. You’ve apparently decided. And here you are.’

  ‘So you’ve been in this situation before?’

  ‘Answer me. Am I right?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Now you answer.’

  ‘You’re the first big wheel to invade my bedroom. How’s that?’

  ‘What about some other room? Have you done it with some big shot in some other room? Your professors, maybe?’

  ‘Jesus, are you my guardian?’

  ‘I could be.’

  ‘No you couldn’t,’ she hissed. ‘You don’t have enough money.’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Let me rephrase that. You don’t have enough money to be my guardian or warder or whatever the fuck turns you on.’

  ‘Do I have enough for one night of your time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Cool, impudent, assured.

  ‘Definitely no,’ she said, oversweet and smiling. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she bitchily added. Arrogant prick. She was feeling more assured. Unless he was going to physically force himself on her, and he didn’t seem to fit that role lounging in his chair, conversing with her in that unheated tone, she was safe.

  His dark brows settled into a frown. ‘Yet you don’t mind sitting there like that.’ He flicked a finger at her nude torso.

  ‘I didn’t know modesty was a requirement.’ Flip and snide.

  ‘It isn’t. I’m just surprised,’ he calmly noted, having checked his momentary resentment that she may or may not have sat casually nude like that be
fore.

  ‘After seeing that video, I’m surprised anything can surprise you.’

  ‘Not much can,’ he said, ignoring her provocation. ‘You, however, are the exception. Why don’t you put on a robe, Miss Hart, and come talk to me. I promise to behave.’ He indicated the chair beside his with a small wave.

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Feel free to go back to sleep.’

  ‘And you?’

  He softly sighed. ‘I may not behave enough to leave.’

  ‘So I’m supposed to sleep with you sitting there watching me?’

  ‘You could. Or you could come and talk to me. Would you like a snack? I can have the kitchen send up something.’

  ‘They’re probably sleeping.’

  ‘Then they’ll get up. Would you like something?’

  You on a platter for starters. Christ, where did that come from? She dragged in a steadying breath, beat back her irresponsible libido, told herself Dominic Knight was too dangerous no matter how powerful his allure. ‘No—no really, I’m fine.’

  He noticed her small hesitation, her resolute little breath, the slight tremble in her voice when she spoke. ‘Not hungry?’ he softly queried, understanding the game was fully in play now.

  ‘Not for that. There, that must please you,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Your record is unblemished. Every woman in the world wants you.’ And why wouldn’t they? her little troublesome, headstrong, overly confident little voice murmured. When he’s gorgeous and sexy as hell lounging there, his T-shirt moulded to his muscled body, the tie on his pyjama bottoms just a tug away from displaying world-class cock.

  ‘I thought maybe you didn’t,’ he quietly said.

  ‘You thought wrong. But I’m going home without, shall we say, getting to know you better. Sorry.’

  ‘I’d like to change your mind.’

  That calm, quiet voice again – like nothing fazed him. ‘I’d like a lot of things,’ she brusquely said, not capable of his equanimity. ‘Most of them I won’t get.’

  ‘I can give you whatever you want.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I don’t want to be number two thousand twenty and counting in your world of kinky sex.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Exactly. There must be a cast of thousands anxious for the role. You don’t need me.’

  ‘You’re unusual, Miss Hart.’

  She smiled. ‘I like to think so.’

  ‘I can keep you for six more days, you know. I could say I’m not sure the Singapore bank has performed yet.’

  ‘I suppose. But the question is, why would you?’

  He grinned. ‘To get my money’s worth. Come, Miss Hart. Keep me company. I can’t sleep for wanting you. Talk to me at least. That can’t hurt.’

  ‘I don’t trust you.’

  ‘Or yourself?’

  ‘Yes. Happy now?’

  ‘Not yet. I could be. But that’s up to you. Where’s your robe?’

  ‘Wherever your butler put it.’

  ‘He’s not my butler, he’s your butler.’

  ‘No, he’s not. You paid for him like you pay for everything else.’

  ‘But not you.’

  ‘No … I mean, yes, not me.’

  He laughed and came to his feet. ‘I’ll find your robe. Then I’ll take you to the bar where you can enjoy the world’s best view and my charming company. That should be safe enough.’

  ‘If only,’ she muttered.

  ‘I heard that,’ he said over his shoulder as he moved towards a bank of louvred doors. ‘My heart did a little flip-flop.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Word of God.’

  ‘Jesus, you’ll say anything for a fuck.’

  Dragging her robe from a hanger, he threw it across the room. ‘I’m not going to look, because you’re probably right. I might do anything for a fuck.’

  ‘Finally,’ she said, rising from the bed and slipping her arms through the sleeves. ‘A little truthiness.’

  He chuckled. ‘I gather you watch Colbert. We could probably find him somewhere on the net if you want.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ What she wanted wasn’t on the net, anyway. He was ten feet away, the murderously handsome, bad boy version of sex personified. And much too dangerous to her future if she were being sensible about CEO–employee sex. She finished tying the belt on the robe, and said in a tone somewhere between politesse and a mild warning off, ‘You can look now.’

  Totally ignoring the warning-off part, Dominic turned and smiled. ‘Very nice. Although everything about you is nice. And restful.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

  ‘Believe me, it is. I lead a hectic life.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let’s see if there’s something to eat at the bar. I’m hungry.’

  ‘You just ate.’

  ‘Two hours ago.’ He wiggled his fingers. ‘Afraid?’

  She moved towards him. ‘Should I be?’

  ‘No.’ As her fingers slid through his, he called on whatever reserves of will-power he possessed. ‘I promise.’

  CHAPTER 10

  He played bartender, pouring her a champagne and himself another rye. Then he rummaged through the three small refrigerators under the bar and came up with cheese, cold cuts, olives. Placing them on the marble bar top, he gave a wave towards the lounge. ‘I’m going to find some crackers.’

  He came back with nuts, crackers, pickled peaches and lychees, madeleines, as well as two boxes of chocolates, one French and one local, and dumped the foodstuffs on the bar. ‘You have to be a little hungry,’ he said, beginning to rip open boxes.

  ‘Twist my arm,’ she said with a grin and pointed. ‘Push those chocolates my way.’

  ‘How about a madeleine with your champagne.’ He slid the two boxes over.

  Soon he had all the tins, bottles and boxes opened, he’d found some silverware, plates, a pile of embroidered napkins and he’d poured them both another drink. ‘Am I resourceful or what?’ he said with a grin, lifting his glass to her.

  ‘If I was dropped into some jungle clearing in the middle of nowhere, you’d certainly be the right man to have along.’ She smiled over the mocha truffle she was about to put in her mouth. ‘I didn’t even know I was hungry.’

  ‘After seeing you eat at dinner, I thought you might be,’ he said, busy arranging a line of crackers on a bar towel. ‘You have a good appetite.’

  ‘Is that an insult?’

  A swift glance from under his lashes. ‘God, no, don’t glare.’

  ‘I’m not glaring.’

  ‘Fuck if you’re not.’ He set down the cracker box. ‘So you like to eat. It’s a good thing. Different, that’s all. Most women pretend they don’t eat.’ Picking up a package of sliced cheese, he began putting one on each cracker.

  ‘The women you know.’

  He wasn’t going there, not even close. ‘You’re right. It’s a narrow segment, I agree. Cheese? No? Did you try the lychees?’ He eased the bottle closer to her.

  ‘Are you changing the subject?’

  ‘That was my intent. Do you always take a bite out of every chocolate first?’

  She smiled. ‘So you’re not going to talk about the women who pretend to eat?’

  Dominic’s turn to smile. ‘Nope. Sure you don’t want a cracker?’

  ‘And pressing you would be useless.’

  ‘Very.’ He spooned a dollop of pâté atop the cheese on the first cracker. ‘Tell me about the chocolates.’

  She lifted one brow. ‘Maybe I don’t want to.’

  A twitch of a smile, quickly suppressed. ‘Do you squabble with everyone, or just me?’

  ‘I’m pleased you find me so entertaining,’ she said with a sniff.

  ‘Then we’re both pleased.’ Another quick glance up through his lashes.

  She dragged in a sharp breath, his fleeting glance was explicitly carnal, his voice like velvet on her skin.

  ‘What?’ He smiled lazily.

  ‘Nothing,’ she w
hispered. She drew in a deep breath of restraint and the full swell of her breasts, only thinly veiled by the white silk of her robe, rose in two perfect round fuck-me spheres.

  Dominic slid the spoon back into the pâté jar. Those ripe tits nearly bursting through the delicate silk would give a monk a hard-on and he was far from abstemious. Food was no longer a top priority. Although Miss Hart’s tremulous approach to sex had to be dealt with gently. And patiently. ‘I’m assuming you don’t like creams,’ he casually said, indicating the half-eaten chocolates in the box with a wave.

  ‘How polite you are. Do you actually want an answer?’

  ‘I do. I’m curious.’ He dipped his head in the direction of the ravaged chocolates. ‘I’ve never seen that before.’ He picked up a cheese and pâté cracker. Since he wasn’t going to rush Miss Hart, he had time to eat.

  ‘Nothing so uncouth, you mean.’

  He grinned. ‘No. It reminds me of some three-year-old in the jam jar.’ He popped the cracker in his mouth.

  ‘You know about three-year-olds?’ Christ, she shouldn’t have asked. ‘Sorry,’ she quickly said.

  He finished chewing and swallowed. ‘My sister has’ – he counted on his fingers briefly – ‘six children.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve seen my share of little three-year-old hellions.’ He stabbed a finger at the box. ‘So?’

  ‘So – I don’t like creams,’ she said, flustered that she’d embarrassed herself by suggesting he might have children. Although he hadn’t actually answered, had he? Rich men like him could have children they discreetly supported so long as the mother was content with the financial arrangement. ‘Checking out the flavours saves me calories,’ she went on under his cool-eyed gaze. ‘And I don’t bite every chocolate like that unless they’re mine – or in this case, yours.’

  The word bite and yours caused a predictable jolt to his libido, but he was long past youthful impetuosity. ‘You don’t have to worry about calories.’

  ‘Thank you. Nor do you.’ There. Better. Unruffled.

  ‘I work too hard. I have to eat a lot just to keep my weight stable.’

  Really. Did everything make her think of sex tonight? She tried not to look at the results of his eating regimen, but his T-shirted torso was only a bar width away, his powerful arms were even closer as he spooned more pâté on top of a cheese-covered cracker and slid it in his mouth. ‘One more drink and then I’d better stop,’ she said, in lieu of all the other possibilities racing through her brain. The ones having to do with unbridled sex and Dominic Knight.